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*1 Jun-v .-.» .- :j‘zlllllltl. ll [For the Herald. TO THE YEAR 1860. Adieu ! departed year, adieu, When other years have pasred away Fond'y in thought, I shall review Events of thy short happy stay. And oft recalling o’er, As memory pri'Les through the pastâ€" Joys that can never happen more, I’ll mourn for thee as if my last. I marked the moment of thy birthâ€"- Silent the hour and lonely I, As if upon the spurious earth, None other kept a waking eye. Through all my breasts. warm thrill comes, As toll’d the silent hour of merit ; And peeling bells at once proclaim Again another year is born. "I‘was then I fe’t new hopes revive, Mingled with g And thought that I might never live, rief, with doubts and fear, Perhaps to see another year. I saw thy birth, tliy course have seen And livo to sorrow o’er thy end; Farewell, kind year, such thou hast been, Adieu ! adieu, departed friend. Iors. Titanium A WILFU’ MAN MAUN HAE HlS WAY. IT was yet prettv early in the morn- ing when I arrived at the inn of Skreigb, and never having been in that part of the country before, my heart inisgrivc me at the appearance of the hourc, and I thought that surely I had mistaken the read, an awful idea to a man who had walked twelve miles before breakfast! It Was a huge, grey, dismantled edifice standing alone in a vild country, and presenting evident traces of a time when the bounces of the tra- veller might have procured him ,iodgliigs within its Walls fora longer i‘ period than suited his Convenience. On entering the parlor, although the ‘ baseluscs'to which this ancientman- sion had been turned were clearly indicated by certain gillstoups scat- tered about the dirty tables, yet the extraordinary size of the room, the lowness of the walls, and the scan- tiness of the furniture, kept tip in my mind the associations which had been suggested by the exterior; and it was not til the aroma of tea, and the still more ‘fragrunt lunt’ of a 'Finnan haddic had saluted my senses that the visions of the olden timc fled from my eyes. W'bilc busy with my breakfast an- other travellcr come into the room. He had a pack on his back and an ell~wand Hin his hand, and appear- cd to be one of those travelling philantropbisisâ€"answering to the pcddlcrs of the soulh~â€"â€"wllo carry into the holes and corners of thc sylvian world the luxuries of the city. ()iir scene being on the best side of the Tweed, I need not say the body had a sharp eye, an 0in face, and a God-fearing look. lle sat down over against me, upon one of the tables, to rest. his pack, and from his shining shoes and Orderly apparel Ijndgcd that he had passed the night in the house, and was wait- ing to pay his score and go forth again upon hisjourney. There was notwithstanding, a singular expres- sion of fatigue on his yellow coun- tenance. A common observer would have guessed that he was brim-fou over night, and had risen before he had quite slept off the effects; but to me, who am curious in such mat- ters, there appeared a something in his face which invested it with a moral dignity an expression that would otherwise have been ludicrous or pit-able. Ever and anon he turned a long- ing eye upon the Finnin liaddie, but as often cdgcd himscdf with a jerk farther away from the temptation ; and whenever the landlady came into the room, his remonstrances on her delay, at first delivered in a moaning, heart-broken tone, became at last absolutely caiikercd. Tho honest wife, however, appeared dc-_ termined to extend the hospitality of breakfast to her guest, and made sundry lame excuses for net ‘ bring- ing ben his score,’ while she was occupied in displaying upon my table with the most tempting libcraltty, the various good things that consti- tute a Scottish breakfast. ‘ Are you not for breakfasting, good man,’ said I. at length, ‘beâ€" fore you go forth this morning?’ ‘No, please God,’ said he, with almost ajump, ‘no carnal comfort shall pass my lips this side the mill of Warlock l’ ‘ The mill of Warlock !’ repeated I, with surprise, ‘ that should be at least twelve miles from thisâ€"and I can tell you, my friend, it is not pleasant travelling so far on an emp- ty stomach. If you have an urgent reason for an abstinence that we of the kirk of Scotland attach no merit to, you should not have loitercd in bed till this hour of the morning.’ The packman, at my reproof. put on a kind of blots look, but his fea- tures gathering gradually into solem- cityâ€"â€" ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘I have urgent reasons for my conduct, and while v» >v'v’ " \-/\_1\,"\/W'\a"»/\z‘\/‘\_/‘v\_/\.F ALEX. S C OT T, Proprietor. ‘701s N00 5‘ M. this weary wife is makhg out myl score, I will, if you desire it, tell you the story.’ ‘ Having eagerly signified my asâ€" sent, the packman \vipcd his glisten- ing forehead, and with a heavy sigh began to discourse as follows :â€"- ‘ Awecl, sn', it was at this time yesterday morning I arrived at the mill of Warlock. The millcr was , out, and the wife, glad oflhc opporâ€" tunity, rampagucd over my pack like _ one demented. She made me turn out every article in my alight, aiidi kept me bargaining about this and that, and ‘lyting by the hour about' the price, and after all it came to pass that tliej-iud (God forgive me I) wanted nncthingr of more value than three oils of ribbandl You may be sure tbatl was not that pleased; and what with fatigue, and what, with my vcxation, while I was mea-; suring the riband, and the wife sklanâ€" ting round at tho lookingâ€"glass. I just clippedâ€"by mistake likeâ€"a halfcll short. chcl, ye’ll say that was just nauhing after the fash I had had, and moreover I stoutly refused the second glass of whisky shc of- fered me to the dourish; and so, shouldcring my pack again, I took the way in an evil hour to the inn of Skroig. ‘It was late at night when I ar- rived licre, and I had been on my legs all day, so that you niav think my heart warmed to the sold biggin, and [ looked forward to naething waur than a cosy seat by the ingle side, or chat with the landladyâ€"a douce woman, sir, and not aye so slow as the now, foul fa’ her! (God forgive me!) forby, maybe, a half mutc hillâ€"01’ twa ; and all these things of a truth I had. Not that I exceeded the second stoop, a prac- tice that which l hold to be contra bones moresâ€"but yc’ll no understand Latin? ye’ll be from the south? Awecl-but there was something mziir, ye ken, quite as necessary for a Christian traveler and a wcai'ied man; and at last, with a great gaunt Ispocrcd at the servant lLlZZlC for my bedroom. 'Bcdroovn.’ quo’ she, ‘yc'll no be gauging to sleep here to night '1’ ‘ Atwccl,’ said the mistress, ‘I am unco vac, but every room in the house is fu’. IIoutl it’s but a step lo the townâ€"no abunc tual mile and a biltockâ€"andyc kcn every inch of the way as wecl as the brass nails on your cllwands.’ I wishl may be forgi’en for the passion they put me intil! To think of sending me out such a gait my lane, and near the sma' hours. 'Oh ycjaud I’ cried l, if the glide- man wus no in the yird the night ye would craw till a different tune!‘ and with that such a liulllballoo was raised among us that at last the iolks began to put in their shoutlicrs at the door in their sarks to speer what was the matter. ‘Awecl, aweci,’ said the iandlmly in the binder end, quite foifaughter. ‘ a wilfu’ man mauu hue his way. There is but ac room in the house where there is no a living soul, and it’s nacthing but an auld lumber room. llowcver, if you can pass the time with another half mulch- kin while Jenny and me rig up the' bed, it will be as much at your scr- Vicc as a deccn.cr place.’ And 50,, having gotten the battle I sat myself! down again, and Jenny brought inl the other stoupâ€"ye’ll be saying that was the third ; but there’s nae rule! without an exception. and moreover ye ken, ‘ thrce’s aye canny.’ ‘ At last anl at length I got into. my bedroom, and it was nofthat ill- looking at all. It was a good siza- able room, with a few sticks of old furniture, forby a large old fashioned l bed. Ilaid my pack down, as is my ' custom, by the bcdSide, and after saying my prayers, put out the can- dle, and tumbled in. ‘Awecl, sir. whether it was owing; to my being ovm' fatigued, or to the! third stoup in defiance of the pro- verb being no canny, I know not,, but for the life of me I could not sleep. The bed Was not a bad bed, it was roomy and conVcnient, and2 there was not a whish in the house,[ and not a slime of light in the rooml I counted over my bargains for the day, and half wished I had not made the mistake with the tnillcr’s wife; I put my hand out at the stock of my bed and felt my pack, amusing myself by thinking what Was this lump and that ; but still I could not sleep. Then by degrees my other senses, as well as the touch, wearied' of being awake and doing nothirg â€"~ficiru’ Zak themâ€"«(God forgive mcl) sought employment. I listened as if in spite of myself, to hear who-l nIeHloND HILL AD / \_/\/\A/VV\ r-x/ <-vr~._/\.\ r ‘v~~J \NVVW‘J\ r _/\_/". .~ ~./ “ Let Sound Reason weigh more with us than Popular Opinion.” MM mm itloiimoiv D thrr there Was anything stirring in the house, and looked out of the curtains to see if any light came through the window chinks. .Not a wbishâ€"not a stlmc! Tbcnl said my praych over again, and began to wish grievously that the creature had her hall-ell of ribind. Then nose must needs be in the bobble, an! I thought I felt a smell. It was ‘not that bad smell, but it was a 5010“ I did not know and therefore did not like. The air seemed close, fever- ish ; I threw off the bcdclothcs and began to puff and pair? Oh,l did wish then that I had never seen the pliysiog of the millcr’s wife! 'I began to be afraid. The en- tire sden‘ce seemed strange, the ut- tcr darkness more strange, and the strange smell stranger than all. l I atlirst grasped at the bed clothes and pulled them over my head; but I had bottled in the smell with me, and. rendered more intolerable by the heat, it seemed like the very es- sence of typhus. I threw oil the clothes again in a fright, and felt persuaded that I was. just in the act of taking some aful lover. I would have given the world had I been able open the window, but the world Would have been offered me in Vain to do such a thing. I contented my- self with flupplll: the sheet like a fan, and throwing my arms abroad to catch the wind. ‘ My right hand, which was to- wards tlie stock of the bed, constant-' ly lighted open my pack, but my left could feel naetliing at all save that there was a space bettvccn the bed and the wall. At last, leaning more over in that direction than here tofore, my hand encountered someâ€" thing a little lower than the surface of the bed, and I snatched it back with a smothered cry. I knew no more than the man in the moon what the something was, but it sent a tingle through my frame, and I felt the sweat begin to break over my brow. I would have turned to the other side, bull felt as heavy to my own muscles as if I had been made of lead, and besides a fearqu curiosity nailed me to the spot. I persuaded myself that. it was from this part of the bed that the smell arose. Soon, however, with a sud- den chpcration, I plunged my hand again into the terrible abyss, and it reslcd upon a cauld, stiff, clammy lacc l ' ’ ‘Now, sir, I would have you to ken, that although I cannot wrestle with the hidden sympathies ofnaturc I am not easily frightened. If the stoutesl robbc r that ever were brecks' «â€"ay, or ran bare, for there be such in thc lIlclandsâ€"â€"-lny a finger on my! packl would hand on likcgrim death; and it ls not to tell, that I can flyto about ac bawbee with the dourcst \Vlfc in the countryside; bnt och,l and alas! to see me at that moment, on the braid of my back, with my, rye: shut and my teeth set, and onej hand on tho pllysiog of a corp! The greatest poinl endured Was froml the trembling of my body, for the COt'i‘ls do “01 generally lie Wider “‘0 not think it) to drive a locomotive motion forced my hand into closer] connection with the horrors of its resringmlacc. while I had no more power to withdraw it than if it had been in [ll-1 thumb-screws. ‘,."e.nd there I lay, sir, with my eyes stcekcd as if with screw-nails, my brain wandering and confused, and whole ritcrs of sweat spouting down my body, till at times I thought i I had got fun, and was lying sleeping . in a ditch. To tell you the history of my thoughts at that time is ini- possiblo ; but the millcrs wife, woe be upon her! she rode me like the nightâ€"hag. I think I must have been asleep a part of the time, for] im- agined that the wearisome half-ell of riband was tied about my neck like a halter, and that I was oti the eve of being choked. I ken not how long I tholcd this torment ; but at last I heard voices and sounds, as if the slicrill‘s’ officers hell were about me, and in a Sill'mlcn agony of great fear I opcdcd my eyes. of ‘ It was broad morning; the sun was shining into the room, and the landlady and her lasses were riving my hand from the face of the corpse. Alter casting a bewildered glance around, it was on that fearful object my eyes rested, and I recognized the remains of an old serving-lass, who, it seems, died the day before. and was huddled into that room to be out of the way of the company. At this moment the landlady enâ€" tered the room with his score, and while the packman sat wiping his brow, entered upon her defence. ‘ Yo ken, sir,’ said she, ‘ that ye wad sleep in the house, and a wiifu’ man menu has his way ; bntgin ye. HILL, FRIDAY, hadlain still, like an honest body wi’ a clean conscience, and no gaeri Being JA N UA RY 4, [861. ltheir litter, will readily admit.â€" free from pungent smell l l _. ’s. . .J‘. , you}, a ‘_ , VOCATE AND ADVERTISER. ” W'V‘v/\ fiVâ€"MVVMAMmNV‘A/‘w n/VWW TERMS: $1 50 In Advance. Whole No. 1 10. and explored the mystery of disso- lution. rainpauging about wi’ your hands;whmh is apt to accompanv sir-aw, limost and purest image, no hatred, where ye had no busmess. the fciiit (unless very Scrupulouslv kept) it is no hypocrisy, no suspicton, no care a harm it would hue done ye !’ The packinan only answered with a glance of ire as he thundcrcd down the bawbees upon, the table, and turning one last look upon the Fin-. nvn liaddie, groancd deeply and went forth upon his journey. MATERIALS FOR DIN N ‘. The classic ancients did not know. how to dine, neither did the unlearn- ed fellows of the middle ages. Only think of it! progenitors of the sixteenth century consrdercd w/iulc pie and whale and; peas, choice daintics. To be sure, the SclaVcs of the present day are fond of dining on short sizes, and washing down the adipose viands with potations of train oil, but men of the race of Alfred and William the (Joinpieror, ought to have known better. Some forty or fifty years ago, licdgcliogs were faltcd for the table like pigs, in the south of England. Whether the patrons of those delicacies went the ‘entire animal, brisiles and all,’ is not stated._ The epicure conversant with an- tiquity who wanders through our markets at this season of the year, cannot fail to regard the tastes of his remote forefathers Willi pity. And while he commiseinlcs them he will congratulate himself. \thn he picks out a magnificent codlisli, with gills as red as a good house- wifo’s scarlet needle book, he will exclairn mentally, ‘and yet Queen IFIlizabcth ate porporse on Fridays 1' As he selects the ShreWshury’s for his oyster ‘pzites,’ it will occur to him, perhaps, that Henry III. had a weakness for whale pie and grant- pus steaks. and that a certain ‘0in man of God’ namcl Wolsey frc- quently purtook of ‘ porpoise pasty.’ The pink loins of veal, and the vir- gin-like legs of lamb, in their coifs, of natural muslin, the rich mosiac of the dainty surloins, and the come-cat-me attractions of seductive turkeys and pale, interesting suck- ing pigs, will bring to mind by force of contrast. all that he has read of the tough old bears, the coarse- lleslied peacocks, the horrible cutth fish, that were devoured as delica- cies by the Yahocs of long agoâ€"- And, as he casts the eyes of appe- tite 0ch the heaps oflgoldcn sweet potatoes, plu'ny celery, and snow- whitc caulillowars-those vegetable cffcrvescences mantling on cups of greenâ€"he may chance to bclhmk him that in the reign of Henry VIII. hundreds of Englishmen died of scurvey because such things were not. Reflecting on these things. the modern epicure will find good reason to be thankful that he lives in an age when ‘the delicacies of the season’ are delicacies, and the suspicion of having learned their vocation in the lower regions. BEDDING HORSES ON SAW/DUST. Having used sawdust as bedding for horses 'for a length of time. the result of my experience may not be unacceptable it: some of your in- quiring readers. I litter the horses on it to the depth of 6 and 9 inches, raking offtbc damp and soiled sur- face every morning, and spreading cvcnly a little fresh, removing the whole only four times a year. It ad 'antagcs appear to be many, of which I will state a few, which give it, in my estimation, its great superiority over straw. It is much cleaner and more easily arranged, and of r'oursc much cheaper at first cost, making in the and excellent manure. It is peculiarly beneficial to the feet, affbrding them a cool, porous stuffing, a substitute for the soil or earth we always find in the hoofs of a horse at grass, and pre- sents the nearest resemblance to the horse’s natural footingmthe earth.l We have never had a diseased foot since the introduction of sawdust in our stables, now some years since. Horses bedded on sawdust are also freer from dust and stains than when enordinary litter (simply because the sawdust is a better abâ€" sorbent, perhasz and testify their own approval of it by frequently rolling and lying down for hours in the day. advantage which all in charge of horses with the habit of consuming Our Saxon-Norman It has also the recom-l mendation of being uncatablcâ€"ani iinnocent to weak and eyes, jslight turpentine odor is rather a lllllc face. death has Come lovingly yS'VUCll'llJl‘ than OIIICI'WISC- for best foundation possible i . *vei‘mm. l ,turns blacks the second duy.â€"Lon- don Field. TH E ENGIN E DRIVER. l have often thought that Ishould =like to be an engine-driver. There Was a time when driving a locono- live was not so pleasant as now.“- llt is pleasant to Soc the great train jof carriages standing at the station before starting; to see the piles of luggage going up through the exer- tions of hot porters; to see the numbers of passengers, old and young, cool and flurried, with their lwraps, their newspapers, their books, at length arranged in the soft, roomy interiors ; and then the sense of pOWcr when, by the touch of a couple of fingers upon the lover, you make the whole mass of luggage, of life, of human interests and cares, start gently into inotion; till, gathering speed as it goes, it tears through the green stillness of the summer noon, amid daisied fields, through little woody dells, through clumps of great forest trees, within sight of quiet old ma- nor houses, across litlle noisy brooks and fair brcad rivers, besilc church- yard Walls and gray ivied churches, alongside of roads where you see the pretty phaeton, the lordly coach, the lumbering wagon, and get glimpses that suggest a whole picture of the little life of numbers of your fellow men, each with heart and mind, and concerns and fears, very like your own. Yes, my friend, ifyou rejoice in fair scenery â€"â€"if you sympathize with all modes, of human iifcâ€"-if you have some little turn for mechanirs, for neat- ness and accuracy, for that which faithfully does the work it was made to do, and neither less nor more, retain it in your mind as an ultimate end that you may one day drive a locomotive engine. You need not of necessity become greasy of aspect; neither need you become black. I never have known more tidy, neat, accurate, intelligel‘it, sharp, punctual, respon~ sible, God-fearing, and truly respec- table men than‘ certain engine- drivcrs. Remember the engine must be a locomotive engine.â€" Your taste for scenery and life uill not be gratified by employment on a stationary one. And it is fear- fully hot work on a summer day to take charge of a stationary steam- engine ; while (perhaps you would is perfectly cool work. You never feel, in that rapid motion, the Tag- ing flame that is doing its work so near you. The driver of the ox. press train may be a man of large sympathies, of cheerful heart, of tolerant views ; the man in charge of the engine of a coal-pit or fac- tory, even of a steamship, is apt to acquire contracted t'ays of thinking, j(when converted into manure,) the bars“ in victory. hm- love cannot be satisfied; for the abeds, and, unlike other stable man- prattle, and smils,a|l the little world are, forms no harbour of refuge for 0f lllOUglllS that we”? ‘0 dtllghlfllli l’inc sawdust is the best are gone forever. and oak the Worst. as the latter overcast its presence, for we are and to become somewhat cnynical and gloomy in his ideas as to the possible amelioration of society. It cannot be a pleasing employment, one Would think, on a day like this, to sit and watch a great engine fire, and mend it when needful. That occupation would not be healthful, either to mind or body. I dare say you remember the striking and beautiful description. in Mr. Dick- en’s ‘Old Curiosity Shop,’ of a man who had watched and fed a furnace- fire for years, till he had come to think of it as a living being. The fire was older titan he was; it had never gone out since before he was born. I can imagine, perfectly well, what kind of effect such a mode of life would have on myself. «Fraser’s Jllagazim. I DEATH IN CiiiLDHOOD.â€"How true and exquisitively beautiful is the fol- lowing expressive passage, which is taken from an article in the Dub- lin University Jllagazinc 2â€"“ To me, few things appear so beautiful as a very young child in its shroud. The little innocent face looks so sub-l limely simple and confining amongst] the cold terrors of death. Crime- less and fearless. that little mortal has passed alone under the shadow, I limakes upon it; there is nothing creel or The yearning: of Awe, too, will looking on death, but we do not fear for the lonely voyager, for the child has gone, Simple and trusting, into the presence of its all wise Father; and of such, we know, is the king- dom of heaven.” VEiiXCtir Y ’I‘lâ€"I {5"}; EST rouc Y. It is related of a Persian mother, that on giving her son forty pieces of silver as his portion, she made him swear never to tell a lie, and said : ‘Go, my son; I consign thee to God! and we shall not meet here again till the day of judgment.’ The youth went away, and the party he travelled with wei'e as~ saulted bv roobers. One fellow asked the boy what he had, and he answered : ‘ Forty diners are served up in my garments.’ The robber laughed, thinking that the boy jestod. Another asked the same question, and received the same answer. At list. the chief called him, and asked what he had. The boy replied : ‘I have told two of your peep'e already that I had forty diners sewed tip in my clothes.’ The chief ordered his clothes to be ripped open, and the money was found. . ‘ And how earns you to tell this l.’ ‘ Because.‘ replied the boy, ‘ I would not be false to my mother, to whom I promised never to tell a lie.’ ‘Child,’ said the robber, ‘art then so mindful of thy duty to thy mo- ther, and I am insensiblc at my age of the duty I owe to God? Give me thy hand, that I may swear repent- ance on it.’ He did so, and his followers were struck with the scene. ‘You hive been our leader in guilt,’.they said to the chiefâ€"â€"‘ be the same in the path of Virtue,’ and taking the boy’s hand, they took the oath of iepcntance on it. There is a moral in this story which goes beyond the direct influ- ence of the mother on the child.--â€"-' The sentiment infused into the breast of the child is again trans- ferred from breast to breast. THE IN t'iNCiBidtS OF COMMON LlI-‘E. â€"“ What a glorious troop might be formed of those men who have won their laurels in the campaign oflife; fighting, not against sword and bay- onet, musket and cannon, lace and sabre ; but against hardship and cir- cumstances, natural defects, and the ridicule or opposition of their fellow men! There has been, and still is, we trust, many a man, whoâ€"â€"sce- ing before him a great and noble end to be gained ; God’s glory to be ad- vanced; man’s happiness and well~ being to be extended; the Gospel to be preached ; the truths of science to be ascertained ; the depraved to be raised, or good of any kind to be ilonc,-=~-has manfully determined to do it, and has not failed. How far greater the honour, how much more worthy the victories, of such men than those of more soldiers! And their deeds have not perished with them; their useful works remain as monuments to their glory. Posses- sing noble, enterprising spirits; a courage nothing can daunt ; an en- durance superior to all rebuff. and all hardships; a perseverance which rises again in spite offailures,â€"â€"-these invincibles have conquered, where all other men have ceen beaten back by the opposing obstacles ; her, where others have not even dared to make the attempt. Nor has the fight been against a visible or tangi- ble foe alone; Iller: men have had lhemsclves to conquer; their ignor- ance or indolence ; their natural leaning to evil; the bad habits of early days ; or even the poverty and the lowness of their social sta- tion.’â€"-T/zc flrt of Doing our Best. ‘ Don't put too much confidence in s lover’s vows and sighs,’ said Mrs, I’artington to her niece; ‘let him tell you that you have lips like strawberries and cream, cheeks like terna- tion,eyes like an asterlisk; but such things oftuer come from a tender head than a tender hearl.’ ,,..,. , ._ < «rt. 4 .-I WWWme ~_,\,â€"\A,\A/\_~\/ “I There is death in its sub- iis : for the morrow ever darkened that . .___.__._ _______._._._.-__._____ wâ€" l ; -tr* THE Movimmo' Me'rii'cna-Doyou’ see, near the wall of the. Church- yard, that female form, sitting on a stone, and as motionless as the stone itself! Wild and neglected lock-so! gray hair fall down over her shoal: ders ; the Winds play with her torn and tattered garments. She is old and stiff, but not from years alone. Go not coldly past ; give her smile. It is not long that she will trouble you, ~Behold lter crutch; behold her dying eyes; behold the pain round her silent mouth. VVbcre- fore sits she there? Because she cannOt be elsewhere. She iiiâ€"her heart isnwith the graves of her children. Sorrow for her children has made the light of her eyes and the light of her mind dim. She marks not when the autumn leaves fall around her; she knows not when the spring breezes melt the snow on the tombs; but every day thither she goes, equally calm, equally insonsible to the things around her, No one knows her ; no one speaks to her, and she speaks to no one. She has, nevertheless, one object ; she waitsâ€"for what? Death. During long years she has seen graves opening round her; but she still slits in Death~â€"in the midst of death, and waits.â€"-Frcdcrika Bremer. How TO PRESERVE HEALTH.â€" Medicine will never remedy bad haâ€" bits. It is utterly futile to think of living in gluttony, inlemperahce. and every excess, and keeping the body in health by medicine. Indulgence of the appetite, indiscriminate dosing and drngging, have ruined the health and destroyed the lives of more perâ€" sons than faminc or pestilence. If you will take advice, you will become regular in your habits, cat and drink only wholesome things. sleep on a mattress, and retire and rise very regularly. Make a free use of water to purify the skin, and when sick take counsel of the/best physician you know and follow nature. S'rUPioi'rv on Loasruns.-â€"â€"Lob- sters, says Dr. Bucklarid, if left on the rocks, never go back to the wa- ter of their own accordâ€"they wait till it comes to them. This peculi- arity was observed after a landslide on the coast of Dorsctshire, Eng- land, which by its great weight for- ced up a portion of the bottom of the sea. On this suddenly elevated bit of ground there happened to be several lobsters, who doubtless thought the lawtide had taken place with uscommon celerity, and that it would return again, Any how, the foolish creatures waited forthe tide to come up and cover thorn. Of course it never did come tip again. They remained in their places and died there, although the water was in many instances only a few feet frcm their noses. They had not the sense to tumble into it and save their lives. SliLF-IifflSI’ECTr-JI is true and so nearly universal, that we may set it down as an axiomâ€"disrespect to- wards others is incompatible Willi self-respect, and he who is iiidiffer- ent to their feelings, can have none but indiff'rent feelings of his own. The bitter word is not the strong word. The greatest vigour of thought or act is not violent ; it breaks no law of courtesy. The lightning is silent and playful; it is the rent and wounded air that walls in thunder. A BEUNING or run SOUTHERN Nilvr’.~â€"'.”lie Mobile Tribune says that Capt, S. Taylor has rigged out a schooner, mounted two heavy guns, and taken on board fifty hardy, active, well- drilled sea-rovers, with which he intends to defend the Alabama coast. This is the begining of a new navy. The coroner of New Orleans reports 85 muraers in that city during the year, 3'2 suicides, 109 accidental deaths, 79 deaths from inteinperauce, and 105 cases of drowning. Thirteen prisoners escaped from the Auburn (Cab) jail recently, by pickng the locks with pleccu of the steel troops of a Chinese woman incarcerated in the jail. At a distillery in S, Clair courtly, out of 2,300 heads of hogs, 1,700 have died of cholera. The disease has also attacked the hogs of some of the farmers in the vi- cinity. The people of Cincinnati, disatislied with the result of the census taken by the U. S. Marshal, have, at their own ex- pense, had another taken. The latter makes the population 10,000 more than the former. The Milwaukee papers contain the re- port of the Treasurer of the Lady Elgin Executive Committee, from which it ap- pears tbat contributions to the amount. of $7,450 76 have been received. Of this amount $2,428 have been paid out, leaving an unexpcnded balance of $5,022 76 in the Treasurer’s bands. W “ Stanley,” said widower Brown to his hope- ful offifteeu summers, “ I want you to remain home this evening.” “ “'hat for, Pop 7” VVhero are you going?’ “That‘s a very impertinant question for a son to propound to his father, but I suppose I will have to answer it. I am going to pay my respects to Miss Sally Patterson this averting." “ No you don't, l’opl I am going to see her myself this evening, and ’taiut no use of us both going to see the same gel at the same time." So saying, young Stanley took up his hat. and walked of, leaving his father perfectly confounded. ‘ 1'“ a V l ‘ -'Hl It